That's What Friends Are For
by x Veela x
Summary: While fantasizing that their lacklustre Horcrux Hunt is over, Ron and Hermione discuss some of the possible disadvantages of being famous. WrittenPreDH. xx


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, though I think many of us would like to… Yes, I'm definitely with the "many of us" section rather than the "owning" section.**

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_That's What Friends Are For_

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It had been quite a few months since Mrs Weasley had bade a tearful good luck and good bye to the departing Harry, Ron and Hermione as they fell off the face of the Earth in their quest to destroy Voldemort. Their search was succeeding along the same lines as Professor Umbridge's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. That is to say – theory was getting more of a look in than practice. Their Horcrux hunt had so far progressed as much as a certain bickering couple's relationship…that is to say… not a lot.

After a particularly trying day, the three were cloistered in the dingy dwelling they had managed to acquire somewhere in the midst of a boggy cluster of mountains lost amongst the constant drizzle in Scotland. Despite Hermione's usually excellent map reading skills, _Scotland_ was the most precise term she had been able to define their location with. It did not help that Harry had accidentally elbowed said (outdated) map into Ron's voracious fire.

The fire of the Golden Trio's fame, however, had died down pretty sharpish after their mysterious disappearance from the heroic scene. The Ministry were fonder of calling attention to their so-called _successes _than the fact that their one hope of winning this battle was M.I.A. Consequently many readers did not hold out much hope for the Boy-Who-Lived, or his companions for that matter.

Hermione, as observant as ever, had pointed this out on many occasions. However, this evening, a dispute had arisen on whether their un-popularity was for the better,

"Being well-known as a kid is probably as all right as it gets," voiced Ron, munching on one of the last batch his mother's biscuits. He gave a sidelong glance to Harry, who returned a non-committal shrug. Ron brushed the brumbs from his lap as he continued, "But I reckon it would all change if we were…I dunno, Bill and Fleur."

Hermione scowl at the mention of the Veela's name was blacker than the storm clouds outside. She had still not forgiven the svelte blonde for her heritage – more to the point, its effects on Ron. To this day she has never admitted the real reason for her dislike, however.

Harry frowned in thought, "Yeah, I suppose, but life changes constantly and so does everything in it – how does being older make fame better?" He asked incredulously. Although Harry usually preferred to brood silently, with the absence of his fiery lover, he had been forced to unleash his passionate argumentation skills on his companions. In his opinion, it was the opposite. Although others may well have forgotten, Harry, however, still very much remembered the comparison of his eyes to green pickled toads. There were a lot more opportunities for such mishaps when one was seventeen than when one was, say, eleven.

"No, I'm not saying that," Ron continued, trying in vain to rephrase his thoughts, before finally giving up, "I guess it's worse." He surrendered.

"How so?" Although Hermione's tone was slightly frosty, she could not conceal her curiosity. Ron ran a hand through his dishevelled red hair, rumpling it needlessly as he floundered. Hermione had the suspicion he had a theory of exactly why, but he didn't want to tell her. She peered at him imperiously over the top of her old, yellowing book, supposedly looking for information about the search for the current Horcrux. "Well, go on then." She needled as Ron cast around for a delicate way to share his musings. "Spit it out." Hermione prodded, carefully placing her bookmark amongst the ancient pages and resting her book in her lap.

Ron shifted, crossing and then uncrossing his long legs, finally stretching them out on the floor in from of him the other bent up to cross his ankle over his outstretched knee. Fidgeting some more, Ron leaned his back against the peeling wallpaper whilst fisting his hand in his pocket. He looked extremely uncomfortable under Hermione's hot gaze and was wishing that he had just kept his mouth shut. An errant thought leaped to the front of his mind that if he had had a knut for every time keeping his mouth shut would had kept him out of trouble, he would be the richest Weasley brother out there.

Hermione looked down form her perch upon the tattered couch expectantly, folding her legs beneath her so that Harry could balance on the arm of the couch instead of leaning on it from behind. The scrawny lad had an amused smirk on his face, evidently enjoying watching Ron squirm.

Ron decided that although tact had never been something he'd mastered, he might just be able to procrastinate his way out of the dreaded "Avis birds" he remembered so vividly.

"Well, say we do defeat Voldemort, and we all get famous and whatnot, our every move will be monitored." He began apprehensively, Harry nodding sagely whilst Hermione waited impatiently for his point. Ron looked at the old wooden table, the mouldy ceiling, the stained couch, his eyes roving everywhere, avoiding everything but Hermione's face.

"And say we – hypothetically of course, not that we would want to or anything – but if, uh… erm…" His ears were rapidly turning a vivid shade of scarlet. Hermione's curiosity was getting the better of her. The way she leaned forward with interest did not help Ron in the slightest. His voice rose, "bought something from _The Magic Touch_…"

Harry fidgeted slightly at the mention of the notorious shop for -ahem- over 18s and Hermione turned slightly pink, abruptly sitting up poker straight, but neither of them interrupted him.

Ron gave a slight cough, "I mean, it would be all over, wouldn't it? Everyone and their bloody mum would know!"

Amidst Hermione's cries of, "Language, Ronald…" Harry stood. Muttering something about incoherent in which one could vaguely identify the words, "talking about privacy...I better...erm" and "feeding Hedwig", Harry sloped off to leave the ticking bomb to explode. Ron nodded vaguely at him and Hermione absently waved him off.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione managed to catch Ron's eye. Her voice was slightly high pitched and her cheeks were beginning to rival Ron's ears. However, in a voice only slightly louder than Harry's (and in a very un-Hermione-ish manner) she replied, "Not if we – I mean hypothetically too," she hastened to add, " – asked an "un-monitored" friend to buy the something for us."

It took a while for Ron to overcome his dumbstruck reaction. "What in Merlin's name would inspire someone to do that for…someone else? No, no, hang on, for starter who the hell would we ask?" He asked her incredulously. He couldn't believe she was actually playing along.

"Well," Hermione said reasonably, as if Ron had just asked her how to transfigure a hedgehog into a pincushion, "If…erm _someone _was to... request –without implying anything to the friend, of course – an item with some kind of offer… It's a very well researched marketing technique," she added, now sounding a bit more like herself, "They are proven to increase sales by –" She carried on, but Ron just stared blankly at her as though her cat ears from second year had grown back. Where was the Polyjuice Potion stashed? This most certainly was not the Hermione they all knew and loved.

Ron chuckled, "Oh yeah, I can just see it now. Front section of Witch Weekly: _Cast an enervation charm on your raunchy romps in the bedroom! Word has in that the new toy to try is bought by celebrity hotshot Hermione Granger. Her Hogwarts Honey bought her our new Big Bunny____ for the big Two One birthday prezzie – and oh no, she's not attending a fancy dress party wink wink."_ He trailed off, his laughter quieting as a determined look he had come to be wary of came over Hermione. It signified either pure genius or disastrous tragedy.

A rare mischievous glint came into Hermione's eyes, "Pass a galleon." She demanded; Ron reached over the moderate stack of gold next to the blazing fireplace. Harry had wisely entrusted Hermione with what he joked to call "their household funds" his Gringotts vault provided for, though he hadn't bothered to store it out of sight. According to him, it wasn't as though anyone would pass by and nick it and Ron was rather cheered up by the sight of the small mound of money on the floor. It was somewhat of a novelty to all three of them. He threw a coin to her warily, "Why, what for?"

Hermione merely smiled, "If you found out when you're famous, I mean impersonally speaking of course, then it would be too late." She said smartly, summoning some floo powder into her hand. She rose and stepped over Ron's legs into the fireplace. Then, to Ron's utter amazement, she called out in a clear voice, "Head Offices, The Quibbler," before promptly vanishing into the flames.

Ron watched her go with absolute disbelief etched into his face. She had _not_ just gone to Loony Lovegood, of all people, to ask the girl to buy her a sex toy. Ron didn't even want to think about how Hermione might know what to ask for. He assured himself that Bulgaria was a relatively conservative and unimaginative place before leaning up eagerly to wait for her return. He had to admit, he was glad Harry had gone to bed.

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"_It gives me the greatest pleasure," informed the Minister for Magic on WWN's Friday morning broadcast, "to announce that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has once and for all been defeated!" Our reporter confirmed that before the Final Battle, involving several ex-Hogwarts students as well as forces from both the Light Side and the Dark Side (more commonly referred to as "Death Eaters"), the destruction of an unknown object enabled the chances to lean towards the Light._

_In an interview with The-Boy-Who-Lived, the only known survivor of the Killing Curse – Mr Harry Potter; Mr Ronald Weasley, son of Arthur Weasley, an irreplaceable component of the Ministry's Senior Management Team; Miss Hermione Granger, who recently achieved 5 N.E.W.T.s without professional tuition, our reporter found out more. _

_The destruction of seven important treasures of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named enabled his defeat, although little is known about the complex magic involved. However, contd, page 2_

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Luna Lovegood looked up from the quotation of _The Daily Prophet's _front page in what was now _her_ magazine. A strange pair of what looked to be bright purple antennae with clips on the end (enclosed in the edition) resided on the top of her head attached to an Alice band. She pushed them back into place as they fell forward, so as not to have her concentration destroyed by the Snacklegromps she was sure liked to live in her kitchen.

Her beloved fiancé, Neville Longbottom, struggled with the kitchen door before finally opening it. When he saw her, he smiled indulgently, noticing her latest accessory.

"Morning." She said dreamily, tilting her face up to him. He leant over her SnackleSnaps to greet her, a little smug smile appearing mischievously on his face.

"Evening." He replied with a small chuckle, one hand behind his back. "The day's already gone by, love. It's night time now."

"I know, I made dinner," She responded, not at all offended by his attempted correction, "but you left early this morning, so I didn't get to see you properly and wish you a good morning. So I thought I'd say it now." She reasoned.

Neville smiled wider, knowingly, "I had to go and get...something for us." He told her, bringing his hand in front of her and depositing something on top of her magazine.

She inspected it carefully, "What's that?" she asked, intrigued. Faint memories of a few months back came to her mind of a little favour Hermione had asked of her. Apparently, Ron had trusted Neville with a similar request. A naughty little smile made its way to her face.

Neville took her hand to lead her out of the kitchen, "Bring it and I'll show you. I assume you'll wanting to be saying good evening to me as well, right?"

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_I'd taken this down earlier to revamp it and here it is back all polished. Reviewers get their very own little request of a Mister Ronald Weasley… Go on – you know you want to ;) x x x_


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